Falling as the clock strikes twelve
by hamishamishamish
Summary: Sherlock and John had Hamish years ago now, he's grown up at university and has a girlfriend, Morgan, who is perfect. Until she isn't. Sherlock and John attempt to help Hamish understand the truth. Yet the truth is not something he wants to know. Only needs.
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: First fanfic, hope you guys like it. Bit of a running away with characters not really cannon at all. Started off in my head as more of a Johnlock story and has turned into a Hamish story. Gets more violent and more naughty (not by much there's a bit more going on to be doing that sort of thing). Anyway hope you like

Sherlock and John looked around the pub, pulling off their scarves and hats from the cold of winter in London, for Hamish and his latest girlfriend. The Rose and Crown had that familiar pub smell of wood and beer. It was dark the only light came from the yellow lamps that hung around the room. Sherlock watched John at the bar, the small man was beginning to show his age, his previously straight back was now slightly hunched. His blonde hair had become a sandy grey. The same went for Sherlock, it had been almost thirty years since he had met John, his dark curls were now streaked with white, his eyes surrounded by wrinkles and he was beginning to need glasses.  
Their son on the other hand was in his last year of university and brimming with energy. He had Sherlock's height, hair and bone structure but his eyes and mouth were John's, and his heart. He spoke a little quickly at times and often enjoyed murder investigations too much for John but otherwise their son was perfect.  
It was fifteen minutes later when Hamish entered the pub with the girlfriend, his hair had grown a little more and he hadn't shaved in a week Sherlock noted quietly. John pointed out that Hamish looked positively ecstatic as he dragged the girl to the bar to get their drinks before heading over to his dads.  
Expecting the same type from his high school years John and Sherlock were, for once, pleasantly surprised.  
She was shorter than Hamish by almost a foot, her hair was wavy blonde, reaching the small of her back. Her brown eyes were a little glassy looking to Sherlock, maybe she wore contacts? He couldn't start analysing this girl, Hamish never liked it, not out loud at least. Her teeth were slightly crooked as well, just slightly, her smile though was kind and there was a little suggestion of defiance in her raised eye brows.  
"Dads, this is Morgan"  
The conversation was easy with the girl, she laughed at John's jokes and didn't get offended by Sherlock's corrections, her hands clasped Hamish's lightly beneath the table.  
Her accent told Sherlock she had lived just north of London but had caught some of the Northern accent from University, just as Hamish had. Hamish and she had been vague acquaintances in their first year and lived together in their second with friends. They had started going out a month later and here they were in early December visiting Hamish's parents.  
She studied English Literature, with a current focus on the Bronte sisters, top of her class as well. In many ways she and Hamish weren't much alike, Hamish studied Chemistry and liked playing chess while Morgan seemed to have a knack for cards and the humanities. Yet they seemed to have a common interest in movies, although they seemed to disagree a lot, about almost everything... Maybe this wasn't a great relationship after all, constant bickering.  
She was clever as well, surprisingly so, able to pull up odd bits of knowledge relating to the discussion. Quick witted, not afraid to make herself look like an idiot to ask questions, John could see why Hamish liked her. She was exciting but easy and comforting.  
"Mr Holmes, I know Hamish told you not to but I can see your dying to deduct the hell out of me. Don't worry about Hamish if he really doesn't want to hear he can just shove his fingers in his ears," Sherlock liked her, John could tell, she wasn't looking for a show, just for something to make Sherlock feel a little more comfortable. She laughed at Hamish as he pouted at her. Hamish had had a difficult time when people he knew were 'deducted' by his dad, but here was a girl who didn't mind what people thought of her, as long as she was happy with herself. She was happy with herself with Hamish, that much was obvious, and Sherlock and John obviously came with that.  
Sherlock began to really look at this girl, the way he did people on cases, his eyes detecting every detail.  
"You exercise, running and some sort of self defence, you read a lot and drink too much tea. You had a scone for mid afternoon snack and you prefer to have one side plain and other with jam and butter. You had chips for both dinner and lunch, lunch at burger king and dinner at Hamish's chip shop he likes. You're close with your family, two younger brothers and a sister. You ring home a lot, always prefer to know that everyone is safe than pretend they don't exist. Your father works for the Underground and your mother is a housewife, you work at a book shop as well and you get your clothes from places which aren't exactly fashionable as you are far more concerned with long lasting comfortable clothes than the way you look. Oh and you are mildly long sighted."  
"Right on pretty much all accounts, didn't catch everything though" She smiled happily, obviously impressed but not surprised by Sherlock's torrent of information.  
"What did I miss?"  
"If I can keep something from the great Sherlock Holmes then I think I'd like to keep it" An angry snort was emitted by Sherlock but other than that the subject was quickly changed by Hamish to his final project.

Hamish and Morgan stood in the middle of Marylebone station, he held her close, he knew it would only be a few days till he saw her again but he'd miss her. He always missed her, even when she was there.  
"I'll miss you" he lightly kissed her nose as she looked up at him, smiling the way you do when you've had a couple of pints and found someone warm to hold in the cold London air.  
"I'll miss you too, but I need to see my family again, I haven't seen them since school started."  
"I know, you say that every time I try and get you to never leave me,"  
"Stop talking and kiss me so I don't miss my train,"  
"You don't half hate romantics do you?"  
He kissed her softly but suddenly very aware of his father flapping his coat impatiently.  
She pulled away slowly, attempting to savour the moment of bliss, but something behind Hamish caught her eye. A sliver of metal in a coat, a sharp eye turned their way, and figures in black littered around the quiet station. She looked over at Holmes, after everything she had heard of him surely he would have noticed. But no he was staring intently at John's happy expression.  
"Hamish, when you turn around, pretend nothing is wrong, take your Dad's and get them out of here, take the longest most indirect route home or get to your uncle, just don't let them follow you,"  
His brow became knitted into confusion as to what she had just murmured in his ear. He would have asked but her expression told him to wait a moment, let her tell him what she needed and do it. Do it or she would hurt him, this was the girl who cried about stepping on a snail.  
Morgan stepped over to John, she pulled him into a hug, somewhat awkward, especially when she urgently told him the same.

It was only a minute later that John realised she had taken his gun.  
She had pulled it on a man in a grey trench coat, not even taking a moment to think before the trigger was pulled. John stared at the body, not hearing her yelling at them all to run, it was only when he looked up did he see four more bodies scattering the station. This couldn't be a shooting, no Sherlock would have known what was going to happen, surely? He would not have put Hamish in danger at the very least.  
But then she said he'd been wrong.

Morgan was running now, all the people who had been watching her were dead. She held two guns now. She had thrown Watson's on the floor for being utter shit. She had told Hamish to run, what did he do?Yelled at her, yelled for her to stop, not that he understood. That was until they pushed him out the way so they could get a better shot at her. As she jumped over the turnstile she saw blood on her leg, a bullet had grazed her as she had run.


	2. Chapter 2

Her eyes, her green eyes, so beautiful, so full of happiness.

Or were they? Were they even green?  
No they were a cold grey, they were sad now. That's all he could think. Morgan's eyes had been happy, happy and grey. Now they were sad and green.  
Hamish opened his eyes again to stare at the board intently. There was her face, her old Facebook page, her good blog, pictures of her with chestnut hair that was really quite straight. She was with her family, who Hamish realised he'd never seen, with old high school friends. Pulling stupid faces he recognised so well. But he didn't recognise the eyes, they were grey, how could they be grey?  
And her name, there it was all over the board, printed in newspapers, web pages, little notes from the village school.  
Not Morgan Jones, her name was Catherine Mear. Catherine who had won an art competition when she 14. Catherine who had been in her school netball team until year 11. Catherine who helped out at the village fete. Catherine who had apparently died four years ago along with her family.  
"You were wrong Dad, she wasn't long sighted, she just changed her eye colour," Hamish murmured to his Father who was still frantically finding information 3 days later.  
"Thank you for your input Hamish, anything else to say that obvious to everyone?"  
"Careful Hamish he might start calling you Anderson," A cup of tea was placed next to him, he resigned himself to behave as if this was just another case. Not his girlfriend with an apparently whole other life he'd never known about.  
"How could we have missed this, Morgan didn't even exist until three years ago? Surely the university would have picked it up?" His voice felt alien, as if it were another boy talking.  
"Whoever did this was very good at what they did, they gave her a whole life, just like Catherine but with a different name and a different ending,"  
"Do you think she was trying to get to us?"  
"Let's hope not,"  
A silence fell, only the sounds of sips of tea and the computer keys broke it.  
It was an hour later when the door banged open, Lestrade and Mycroft strode in, turning on the News. There was figure covered in black, with a balaclava and a base ball hat hiding it face. There were bodies surrounding her, like at the station but this time there were more. It was a girl, the clothes were tight fitting enough to tell, she was running away from the scene. Guns left in the middle of the room, she disappeared from view just as police came running into the scene.  
This was the third shooting since Marylebone, seemed Morgan/Catherine had been all over the country. People were being told to stay inside their homes, not to go out, London had been put on lock down after the shooting in Westminster. She had been fucking a murderer, a mass murderer, people he, for as long as he could remember, had been chasing down with his fathers.  
But something wasn't quite right, there was a year missing in her life, she has been in a fire when she was eighteen, almost four years later she was finishing her degree. But she hadn't done a gap year, according to her records Morgan was a year younger than Catherine.  
Another part of him still trusted her, not because she had lied to him but because she had told him to run, she had been scared for him and his dads. It was a very small part questioning whether she was scared scared as well.  
Those people who had been shot, every single one had died, had all had a moment when they looked like they were coming for her, like she had been the target not the rest.  
There was more substantial evidence which Mycroft had dug up when the had looked over the bodies and found out about Catherine. In some cases, there were records of second identities, all had died in house fires in the past 18 years, the first identities only had substantial evidence go to a certain point. Then it all became a world of made up exam results and families.  
"Whatever this is Sherlock, I think it might be bigger than just you," Mycroft left the flat, his umbrella swinging as he trotted down the rickety stairs.  
Lestrade flopped onto the sofa, he hadn't shaved since Marylebone, he was stressed and worried. One of the women shot had worked for him, he hadn't known her well but still.


	3. Chapter 3

It was three in the morning, Catherine stood opposite 221B, the lights had gone off two hours ago, but the CCTV was still trained on the front of the flat. No matter, she began making her way down the street away from the cameras, staying in the shadows, hidden. She found a house with a well exposed drain pipe, tying her boots slightly tighter she began to climb. It had rained all evening but had stopped around midnight, she had hoped this would mean it was slightly easier but it still took her five minutes more than she had expected. The roof sloped just enough that she had to pay close attention where her feet landed.  
Hamish had told her that his room overlooked the road a month ago. Lucky, she couldn't imagine what Watson might do to her if she climbed into his room in the middle of the night. She let herself down on to his windowsill, pulling a knife from the inside of her boot she began to ease open the window.  
Hamish's light snore filled the room, his curls stuck slightly to his forehead with sweat and his fingers clutched at the pillow. She missed him, she had grown used to sleeping next to him, the last few nights had been lonely. Although maybe that was what happened when you slept under bridges with only cardboard for a blanket.  
"Hay," She reached out slowly and shook his shoulder, his eyelids fluttered open for a moment before he returned asleep. She sat next to him, in the curl of his body, holding her breath.  
"Hay, please wake up," She whispered, very conscious that his dads were only a wall away. His eyes flew open the moment she touched his warm fingers. Immediately she clasped her fingers around his mouth, her other hand indicating to him that he should stay silent.  
He pulled himself up, his eyes wide, he wasn't wearing a shirt, something she dearly wished she didn't notice. His torso was pale like the moon, the lines of his chest only just there in the dark. She let her hand fall from his mouth down his chest, it was all she could do to resist pulling him into a hug.  
"Hamish, please listen,"  
"I've seen you on the news Morgan, you've killed 40 people since Marylebone and you want me to listen to you?"  
Her expression hardened, pulling her hand away from him she stood up.  
"I need you to Hay, you and your dads. I'll explain in a minute. Mind if I borrow a shirt though, I've been out since 7, never dried off,"  
She used to be self conscious, always avoiding changing in front of Hamish. But here she was pulling the soaking black t shirt off her body, then her boots, then her jeans, leaving them all in a wet pile on the floor. Morgan usually wore white underwear, girly things with light pink lace at the edges. But Catherine apparently wore plain black underwear, sensible but on her pale scarred skin had an element of danger. Hamish couldn't think like this, she had a gun in her bag and she was openly re strapping her knife to her leg before pulling on a pair of Hamish's track suit bottoms. He felt a familiar tug of desire as she stood, so confident for once in her own body, glaring at him, impossibly infuriated by his lack on understanding.


End file.
